• Title - The Wish of Three Hearts
• Author name – LonelyTara
• Email Address -
9kodama@gmail.com
• Rating - I'm just gonna go R from here on out...
• Disclaimer - While filled with plenty of angst, tension, and grief, please know this will be a happy fic in the end. Not just because of the rules, but because I love W/T too much to mess a great thing up! Oh, and all this belongs to Joss Whedon et al, I'm just borrowing, please don't sue.
• Feedback-Please, please!
• Summary- Wave is an AU post season 7. It's been three years since Tara's death. Willow travels to the canyon that was once Sunnydale California to celebrate her lost love's birthday. Willow makes a wish, and everything changes...
• Notes-Thanks to everyone who will read. Some lines from BtVS, S6, Two to Go and Grave.
Chapter Ten
Tara, Willow thought, her lover’s name ringing in her head like a sacred chant.
Tara, Tara. Come back to me. Please be safe baby, please be well, please know that you are loved. That I love you. Tara. The name was a mantra, feeding the gift of pure magic she’d been given. The mantra moved in rhythm to the sound of Xander’s footsteps.
Tara.
From the moment Buffy ran out into the night after Dawn, Xander had begun to pace back and forth from the counter of the Magic Box, to the far wall, and back again. Willow watched him walk that path, over and over, without saying a word, feigning sleep. She couldn’t bear the sorrow, the fear and the pity that she saw in her old friend’s eyes, every time he looked at her, and so she was silent.
As minutes ticked by, Xander’s pace quickened, he was crossing the distance of the shop in a few long strides. Each time he turned to face her she winced a little at the raw anxiety on his face, cinching his brow and pulling his mouth into a thin line. He turned away, strode back again, and Willow saw tears streaking down his cheeks. A hot flare of guilt spilled down into her darkness. She’d been awake, lying on her side in the yarrow circle, since Xander finished bandaging her wounds and carefully reconstructed the barrier around her. She’d been so wrapped up in her own pain that she hadn’t seen his.
No more playing possum, she thought to herself.
“Xander,” Willow said softly.
The dark-haired continued to pace, chewing on the tip of his thumb. Willow pushed herself upright, gritting her teeth against the ache in her chest, her belly. She felt like she was being hollowed with a melon baller, one tiny scoop at a time. Willow pulled her knees to her chest and then wrapped her arms around them, squeezing tight.
“Xander,” she repeated a bit more loudly.
He gave a little jump and stopped pacing, swiping at the tears on his cheeks and then turning toward her with a smile.
“Hey Wills,” he said gently, dropping into a crouch just outside the barrier. “How ya doin’?”
Willow gave him a weak smile. “Hanging in there, Xander. Buffy and Dawn back yet?” She asked the question even though she knew the answer, trying to have some semblance of a normal conversation.
“Not yet,” Xander replied. “But I’m sure they’re fine,” he said quickly. “Did they wake you up when they left?”
How to tell him that she’d never rested? That when he’d laid her in the circle she’d decided to meditate, to try and heal some of her wounds so she could go with them to find Tara. But the moment she’d stilled her mind and looked within, a gibbering blackness was all she found staring back at her, reaching. The effort of pushing it back was what had left her giving the illusion of trembling slumber. Eyes closed and shaking, holding to the vestiges of her vanished lover’s magic, Willow Rosenberg was fighting to hold on to herself, to her soul.
“Yes,” she lied, forcing a little smile onto her face. “But it’s all right, I—” she began, and then she curled her hands into tight fists, nails biting her palms. Guilt again, feeding the darkness, and the dark repaid with a fresh burst of pain that set her wounds throbbing. “I was having bad dreams anyway,” she finished.
“Do you need anything?” He asked, hands on his knees, poised to rise. “Water? Tea? Are you hungry?”
“Just some company would be nice,” she murmured.
There was a hesitation, a little pause before he answered. For a moment Willow thought he would say no, but then he nodded. “Okay,” Xander replied. He settled to the ground next to the barrier.
“Thanks,” Willow whispered.
“Anything for my favorite red haired girl,” Xander replied with a little smile.
They sat next to each other, separated by the thin line of yarrow stalks, in a silence that held more awkwardness than comfort.
“Xander I’m,” Willow said finally. “I’m sorry about Anya.”
He gave a little shrug, staring off at nothing, unfocused. “Me too. I hope that she decides to walk away from it again; I hope she can walk away again.” Xander shrugged again and turned to face Willow. “But Anya’s a big girl, making all her own decisions, so we don’t need to worry about her. You especially don’t need to worry about anything more than all the things you already have to worry about.”
Willow closed her eyes at his words. Tara. Waiting for the vengeance demon’s return, waiting to find out if her lover was unharmed, it was torture, plain and simple.
So,” he said after a little pause. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing while you were pretending to sleep?”
“I—” Willow began. She ducked her head. “How?”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Xander said, with just the hint of a smile curving his lips. “Besides, there wasn’t enough sleepy babbling.”
“I should’ve thought of that,” Willow replied.
“Yeah,” Xander replied. “A little bit of talk about frogs or tadpoles and you totally would’ve had me fooled.”
Willow knew that she should laugh. She let her lips part, she would chuckle, quick and soft, try to set her friend at ease. But then memory took her.
The night of the candle, that perfect, perfect night. It’d been the third time they made love, but the first without the specter of Oz between them. When Willow woke up the next morning, warm and cradled in a deliciously soft embrace, she woke to the sound of her lover’s laughter. Her lover. The one she would love, Willow knew, forever. She opened her eyes and saw Tara smiling down at her, that perfect, crooked grin. The blonde girl planted a soft kiss on her forehead, still giggling. When Willow nuzzled into her neck, asking her in a murmur what had her so happy that morning, Tara had said simply, ‘Besides loving you, and you loving me? Well,’ she’d teased then, ‘You did bring me a very pretty candle.’ Willow had protested, murmuring Tara’s name in a mock pout, even as she placed a tender kiss on the silky skin of the blonde’s neck. ‘You talk in your sleep,’ Tara admitted, running a hand down Willow’s hair with a gentle reverence. ‘All tadpoles and pollywogs. It’s adorable. Just another reason why I love you.’ And Willow had looked up, and she had seen it, seen that love, shining in her sky-blue eyes. In that moment Tara made her whole.
Willow couldn’t close her mouth in time to stop the gasp. Tears welled, streamed down her face. A low, quivering sob sound was torn from Willow’s throat. She took a deep and shuddering breath as she began to shake, burying her face against her knees. Willow wept openly, felt Xander’s hand grip her shoulder.
“I'm sorry Will,” Xander whispered. “So sorry.”
Willow nodded, but couldn’t stop the tears. She curled up on herself, rocking.
“We’ll get her back,” he murmured.
There was a rustling. Willow tensed, but before she raised her head, Willow felt Xander’s arm settle around her.
“Nudge over just a bit,” he said. “I don’t want to break the circle.”
Xander helped her slide out of the center of the circle, settling down next to her and then pressing a gentle hand to her temple, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. He didn’t say a word as she cried. He was just there, a warm presence. In his silence he spoke so clearly, reminding Willow that she wasn’t alone.
“Thank you, Xander,” she said after a few minutes.
“For what?” He asked with forced cheerfulness. “Making you cry your eyes out? Any time you need to be grief-stricken, I’m your man.” Willow lifted her head and then allowed it to fall back against his shoulder, knocking him gently. “Just kidding, Will,” he said gently. “You know me, mister ‘Makes Inappropriate Jokes When He Has No Idea What To Do’. My specialty. It could even be considered a super power. A really bad one, though.”
Her tears began to slow, her breathing go soft and even. She reached up to wipe tears off her cheek with a shaking hand, when Buffy and Dawn walked back into the shop, stepping carefully around the remains of the razed door.
“Hey,” Buffy said, running over to kneel at the edge of the circle. “Hey Wills, you’re awake.” The slayer was smiling, but her eyes were bloodshot, weary.
Willow tensed for a moment, looking from Buffy to Xander, wondering if he’d tell them about her deception.
“Yeah,” Xander said softly. He smiled down at Willow, giving her a little squeeze. “She’s awake.”
“Any word from Anya yet?” Dawn asked, walking over to stand next to her sister, arms crossed tight over her chest.
Willow shook her head. “Nothing.” Her voice was a haunted whisper.
“She’ll be back soon,” Dawn whispered, reaching across the barrier to grasp Willow’s forearm, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be okay, Willow.”
“Thanks Dawnie,” Willow murmured, wishing she could believe, that she felt even a hint of the certainty that she saw in the younger girl’s eyes.
In that moment of fear and regret, memory burned through her. She could see it so clearly—Dawnie, backing away from her, stammering, fearing for her very existence as Willow offered to make her the Key once again.
It’s time you go back to being a little energy ball. No more tears, Dawnie.
“Oh god,” Willow groaned, taking the girl’s hands. “I’m sorry, Dawn. I’m sorry.”
“Willow?” Dawn asked, voice high and trembling.
“Will?” Buffy asked.
Willow shook her head, biting her lip to hold back the grief rising in her. At the touch of Buffy’s hand Willow heard her own voice, twisted with cruelty and rage.
Oh Buffy, you really need to have every square inch of your ass kicked.
“Sorry,” Willow gasped, feeling tears spill free as she looked up at the slayer. “I’m so sorry for the things I did. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Buffy.”
“You won’t,” Buffy said firmly. Dawn looked between the two of them, clearly confused, frightened.
“Willow,” Dawn said. She looked at her sister. “Why is she saying these things?”
“It’s because she isn’t well,” Xander said, squeezing Willow’s shoulder. “We know, Will.” When she didn’t answer, didn’t move her gaze from Buffy and Dawn, he shook his head. “We know you would never hurt us.”
Willow look at the three of them, lingering for a moment on each face.
They really believe I would never hurt them, she realized.
They trust me. She bit her lip against a sob.
Because they don’t know me. How could they trust her when she didn’t trust herself?
“I don’t want to,” Willow whispered. “I love you guys.”
“As heart-warming as the mutual reassurances must be at this point, we have to get moving,” a strident voice announced.
“Anya,” Willow cried, struggling to stand. Xander quickly rose and helped the slender witch to her feet. “Did you find Tara? Is she—”
“Alive,” Anya interrupted, nodding. “I would say alive and well, but I don’t think you’d believe me even if I did.”
Willow’s face crumpled. “Thank god, thank the goddess that she’s alive.” Her voice was ragged. “But they, they hurt her?”
“Maybe you would’ve believed me,” Anya said softly. A strange, strained grin stretched her cheeks. “She’s alive and well,” Anya finished cheerfully.
Willow put her hands over her face, but not before she caught Anya shaking her head and mouthing ‘not well’ at Buffy and Xander and Dawn.
“Where is she?” Willow asked, wiping away tears as she slid her hands down her face.
“Abandoned warehouse complex near the outskirts of town. Gear up,” she told Buffy and Xander. “We’ve gotta go get her, right now.”
“All right,” Buffy nodded. “Dawn, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Willow.”
“Is that a good idea, Buff?” Xander asked, his voice soft but urgent. “Does drawing big bads ring a bell?”
“I want to go get Tara,” Dawn demanded, hands planted on her hips. “I can help, I can fight.”
“We can drop them off at Spike’s crypt on the way,” Buffy said, clearly ignoring her sister’s protests. Xander bristled and she sighed. “He won’t hurt them, Xander. Who else would stand a chance against the nasties out there?”
“I don’t want to go to Spike’s!” Dawn thundered.
“We don’t have time for this,” Anya said, her voice soft and weary.
“Dawn,” Buffy said, placing hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You’re grown, you’re strong, I get that. But you’re also a Scooby and right now I need you to do the right thing as a Scooby and go to the crypt with Willow.”
Dawn opened her mouth as if she would argue, but then closed it again. She nodded and Buffy responded with a small, tight smile.
The exchange between her friends, her family, was a low, dull roar in Willow’s ears. There was a small part of her, still swayed by logic, that understood she was a liability, injured and tainted, understood that she should stay behind. But every other fiber in her screamed in protest. How could they possibly think she would be left behind? That she would sit on the sidelines while her friends went off to rescue Tara? Even weak as she was, robbed of her magics, she could swing a sword or an axe.
Maybe a dagger, something light, something small and quick. She could see it clearly in her mind, razor-sharp and glinting, and then slick with blood.
No, Willow thought, shivering.
Just a threat. I don’t have to use it. Willow realized Buffy and Xander were still debating their destination.
“Dawnie,” she said, softly shrugging off Xander’s arm. “Whether you go or not, it’s totally up to you. But I’m going to get Tara, so don’t include me in the equation.”
“Will—” Buffy began.
“I’m going, Buffy, no buts.” There was no pout, no hint of adorable resolve face, just cool and absolute certainty. “I can help.”
“Wills,” Xander said kindly. “You can barely stand. You don’t need to walk into a fight.”
“I know you mean well, Xander,” Willow replied. “But there is NO FUCKING WAY in a thousand stormy hells that I am not going with you.”
“Willow—” Buffy and Dawn said simultaneously.
“Would you all just shut up?” Anya screamed. “I’ve said this once already. We. Don’t. Have. Time. We need to go, now.” The vengeance demon reached out and took Willow’s hand. “And if you love Tara, you’ll sit this one out, Willow. You’re going to slow us down.”
“I won’t,” Willow protested. “I’m coming.”
Anya shook her head. “Whatever. We need to go now. We’re running out of time.”
The demon gave in so quickly that Willow made a noise of protest before she could stop herself. She felt the indignation in her twist, shift into a cold wash of fear. Anya wasn’t being pushy, impatient, or stubborn, she realized. Anya was terrified.
“What did they do to her?” Willow cried, surging forward. Her fall was stopped only by Xander’s firm grip on the back of her shirt.
“Willow, what—” Xander said.
“What did they do to her?” Willow demanded again. Anya cringed.
“It’s not what they’ve done, though what they’ve done isn’t great,” she babbled. “Hanging and chains, so medieval, but nothing that won’t heal.”
“Anya!” Buffy said, exasperation clear in her voice.
“It’s what they’re going to do,” the vengeance demon said.
“What,” Willow said, pleading, begging, while in the same moment she prayed Anya wouldn’t answer, stiff with terror at the thought of what the trio had planned for her lover. When she spoke again it was in a whisper. “What are they going to do?”
“They’re going to change her,” Anya said sadly.
No one moved. The only sound Willow could hear was her own pulse, pounding in her ears. Change her. They were going to change her.
“So,” Buffy said tentatively, after more than a minute had passed, “Are they going to make her a demon? Like Raines did to Giles? Cause we can fix that. Right Will? Will?”
Willow shook her head. “Not the body? Right, Anya?” She asked softly. “What would they gain from changing what she looks like?”
“Tara’s beautiful,” Dawn murmured.
“She is, isn’t she Dawnie?” Willow smiled, even as her guts twisted, as her eyes glistened with tears. “That’s why, isn’t it Anya? Her beauty and her power. That’s why.”
“That’s why they’re going to change who she is,” Anya agreed. “Change her mind. What makes her Tara. Unless we stop them.”
“Why?” Dawnie asked.
“It’s Mears. He wants Tara to obey him.” Anya paused. “He wants her to love him.”
Not again, Willow thought.
I won’t let it happen again. She could see it so clearly. Her Tara, left shattered and broken after Glory plundered her mind, crying out, striking out, muddled and confused as a toddler lost in the dark. Willow had fed her, dressed her, bathed her, cleaned up after the accidents. For months after her restoration, Tara had put on a brave face for the Scoobies, helping to hold things together after Buffy’s death. Only Willow had known about the night terrors, Tara waking with whimpers, screams, and begging. Only Willow had been able to calm her, comfort her, ease her back into sleep.
My fault, Willow thought.
I was so ugly with her. And then I wasn’t there to save her.
And now Mears wanted to do something worse. For the longest time Willow had believed that there was nothing worse than what Glory had done, not even death. But now? If he succeeded, Warren would wipe her soul mate’s slate clean. Tara would exist in the world, she would live, her body would live, but everything that made her Tara would be gone. And no way to pull it back.
My fault, Willow thought.
Tainted myself. Broke myself. I couldn’t save her. In her despair, the light of Tara’s magic flickered, faded. And the fear, the panic, that had become her constant companions were swallowed up by a great, dark, bestial rage.
Willow was bent backward with the force of the inhuman shriek torn from her throat. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, moaning and grunting, panting for breath. The dark power inside her crackled and surged, snaking through her veins, riding the impulse of each synapse firing in her brain.
Kill them before that happens, Willow thought. Did she think it? Or was the thought driven into her mind? She felt her shoulders shake, her lungs compress, her body shake with frantic laughter that dissolved back into screams.
Won’t kill them, she told her traitorous brain.
I have to right the wrongs. But that they exist, that’s wrong, isn’t it? Maybe their death is the answer.
“Can’t kill them, can’t kill them,” Willow whimpered over and over, staring down at the translucently pale flesh of her arms, her hands. She imagined she could see every blood vessel.
“We aren’t going to kill anyone, Will,” Buffy said solemnly. “We’re just going to save Tara.”
“And what if they’ve already taken her mind, you stupid bitch?” Willow snarled. “What if there’s no Tara to save?”
Buffy’s eyes widened with shock.
Willow pounded against the darkening corners of her own mind, scrabbling at the walls of her awareness. Like a failing swimmer she was drowning in her own body, being pulled down into nothingness.
“So sorry,” Willow gasped, her face crumpling as she cried out again.
Even as she felt herself vanishing, creeping into blackness, her eyes took in a world of light. All the connections, all the cohesions of atom and magic holding the building together, holding her friends together, each microscopic piece of matter, glowed. And a part of her thought how easy it would be, just the right word, the right gesture, to break those bonds. Everything around her would collapse in a pile of sparkling dust.
It would be so pretty. It was her voice, echoing, but flat. It was death, talking with her mind, and it would use her lips, and it would use her hands, and everything she loved would be gone.
“Get out,” Willow groaned, staring down at the floor. She heard movement, coming closer, not moving farther away. “You have to get out,” she sobbed. “You have to go.”
“We’ve got you Willow,” Xander said. She could feel the warm pressure of his hand on the crown of her head. “We won’t let anything happen to Tara. Let’s go get her, Willow.” His voice was shaking.
“You can’t help me,” Willow gasped. “It has me.”
“Oh shit,” Anya murmured, backing a few steps away.
“Go!” Willow screamed, feeling the power inside her burn up through the stratum, all the layers of her flesh, charring her skin. A wave of blue-black energy pulsed around her, knocked the Scoobies flying. The force of it pulled her to her feet, rocking and wobbling.
“Go,” Willow groaned.
Anya was the only one left standing, clutching the bookshelf she’d been knocked in to. Buffy was helping Dawn up, checking her sister for injuries. Xander was lying flat on his back, unmoving. He spoke to her from the floor.
“We’re not going anywhere, Will,” he said firmly. He shifted to the side as if he were going to role over but gave a little gasp of pain and settled back on to his back. “We’re here. Let us help you.”
“There’s no one here with the power to stop me now,” Willow cried, gritting her teeth as she fought the darkness rising in her.
Tara, baby, help me. Please, don’t let me hurt them. I don’t want to hurt them. But Tara wasn’t there.
When the energy hit her, sent her spinning through the air to crash to the floor on the far side of the Magic Box, Buffy, Xander and Dawn all cried out. Willow felt her impact on the hard tile burn through her tendons, her muscle, down to the bone, but all she felt was relief. The darkness in her gut recoiled from the magic crackling through her body, burrowing down, hiding. Even as her eyes rolled back in her head, she laughed.
He’s here. The last thing she heard was his voice, so clear and stern.
“I’d like to test that theory,” Giles said.
* * *
The sound of the door sliding open woke her, pulled her back into swaying nausea and pain. She strained into the darkness, trying to make out some hint of movement, but the black was absolute. There was a muffled patter of steps, starting and then stopping after just a few moments, a quiet and furtive movement.
“Anya?” Tara whispered. There wasn’t any answer and she swallowed thickly. It wasn’t Mears, standing there in the dark. She knew it, could feel it. The steps were too soft; there was no trace of his menace, the stench of his egoism, his certainty.
“Buffy?” She asked, a little louder. There was the faint sound of her voice, echoing.
Still no answer. After another brief burst of shuffling Tara’s eyes widened. She could feel her heart beat faster. When she spoke again, her voice was trembling, strained.
“W-Willow? Baby?”
“Keep it down.” It was a man, but the voice was higher, more nasal. It wasn’t Mears, not whiney enough for the blonde one.
“Jonathan?” Tara asked.
“Quiet,” he said in an urgent whisper. “I’ve got the wire taps and the cameras shut off, but our voices could carry.”
“What do you want, Jonathan?” Tara murmured.
“I—” he paused. “I wanted to warn you.” A light flared.
Tara looked down at Jonathan; he was staring up at her with a flashlight pointed under his chin. Part of her wanted to laugh at him, at the ridiculousness of the situation, but she knew if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Warn me or tell me ghost stories?”
Jonathan’s eyes flickered to the flashlight and back up again. “This isn’t a laughing matter. If the demon comes back, you have to tell her to go.”
They knew. They knew that Anya had been there. “How—” she began.
“He told you the place was wired, what did you think, he was kidding?” Jonathan shook his head, a blur in the orange-tinged glow from the flashlight. “There are more bugs in this place than the White House. And there are night-vision cameras set up in a panoramic 360 view. He can see and hear everything that goes on in here. Do you understand?”
“Why are you telling me this?” Tara was hurting, exhausted. “No more games. I'm too tired for games.”
“I erased the footage, replaced it with a loop, but I can’t risk it another time. Andrew’s hovering.”
He was speaking so low, so quickly, that Tara was having difficulty following the patterns of his speech. Her eyes drooped and then snapped open when he began to speak again.
“If he knows they’ve found us, found you, I don’t know what he’ll do.” There was a quaver in his voice.
Afraid, Tara realized.
He’s scared of Mears. “Jonathan,” she whispered, hope the dim flutter of a sparrow’s wings in her chest. “Jonathan, I know what he’s going to try to do.” Guilt flickered across the small man’s face. “You know what he’s capable of.”
“I do,” Jonathan whimpered.
“Then you have to help me get out of here. Please, Jonathan, let me go.”
He stared up at her, doe-eyed, and seconds ticked away. He opened his mouth, closed it. He reached out to her, and for a moment Tara thought that he would do it, that Jonathan would loosen her chains and she would leave that place. She would go back to Willow. But then Jonathan dropped his hands, shook his head.
“I can’t,” he replied. “Warren is out of his mind. He’ll kill me if he even suspects that I might be thinking of defying his rule,” Jonathan spit bitterly.
Tara felt her eyes well. “The Scoobies will protect you,” she pleaded.
“How can they do that?” Jonathan asked, barking with laughter. “They’re dead, or dying, remember? And even if they weren’t, they couldn’t keep you safe. How would they keep me safe?”
“I know they’re not dead, Jonathan,” Tara replied, solemn.
He forced another laugh, but his eyes darted nervously. “Do you know the odds of successfully escaping the binding blood? About the same as the Millennium Falcon clearing that asteroid field.” His voice was squeaking, breath coming in a quick pant.
“I know what you did,” Tara said simply.
“What?” Jonathan yipped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re wringing your hands like a little rat, and you won’t look me in the eye,” Tara said wearily. “Lying 101. I heard you,” she continued, willing her voice to be steady, without a stammer, as she prepared to out and out lie to the man. “I heard you cast the fracture spell.”
Even in the dim light cast by the flashlight she could see the color drain from Jonathan’s face. “You c-can’t,” he stammered. “You can’t tell Warren, or I’m dead.”
“All you have to do is get me out of here,” Tara said, and Jonathan squirmed under her gaze. “Get me out of here and we’ll both be safe.”
“I can’t,” Jonathan hissed. Tears welled in his eyes and Tara wondered if her captor was actually going to weep. “And you can’t say anything. If you tell him, if you tell Warren, it will be like you killed me with your own two hands.”
“Jonathan—”
“I have to go,” he said, backing away from her.
“No, don’t, don’t go,” Tara’s voice hitched in her throat, a tear spilling down one alabaster cheek.
“They can see everything,” the man whimpered. “He can see everything.”
The light of the flashlight he carried was like a little lifeline, stretched tighter and tighter the farther he went, until finally there was just a tiny glow, like a candle flickering, out in the dark. When the light snapped off Tara couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
“Don’t leave me here,” she begged. “Don’t leave me in the dark. Ah goddess,” she cried. “Help me. Please.” The last word she spoke before the sobs robbed her of her voice was a choked whisper. “Willow.”
* * *
Willow slid to a stop, head lolling against the tiled floor. Buffy was the first to her feet. She ran over to the slender witch, shaking her shoulders.
“Wills,” she said tearfully. “Willow, wake up.” There was no response from the redhead.
“Be careful, Buffy,” Giles said, stepping into the shop. “It won’t be long before she recovers.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Buffy cried, pulling Willow’s unconscious form against her. “What did you do to her?”
“It’s a simple suppression,” the watcher replied. He reached toward his face like he was going to pull off his glasses, but encountered only the bridge of his own nose. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to stop her, but she should be stable for a while.”
“She’s unconscious,” Xander said, struggling to his feet. “How stable is that?”
“Yeah?” Dawn asked, scowling.
“I think we should give him a break,” Anya said softly. “Giles did what had to be done.”
Buffy and Xander sputtered and Giles just stared at the ex-demon. “Well, thank you Anya,” he said finally.
But Willow was awake, she heard every word as she screamed and pounded futilely in the prison of her own mind, watching as tainted power coiled up again, spread through her body, her essence, like smoke rising from a fire.
Listen to him, she thought, desperate.
Get away, get away.
“Anya,” Xander said slowly, “Giles attacked Willow. Giles bad.”
“Giles stopped her from hurting us all, Xander,” Anya drawled. “Giles good.”
Willow howled from her prison as the darkness in her moved, pulling her to her feet, every tendon and muscle tensed so tight Willow felt like her limbs would snap. She felt her head loll up, and then her eyes opened and she was watching them all, the fear so clear and painful on Buffy and Xander’s faces, the drawn distance of Giles’ disappointment.
“Stay down,” Giles said. He moved his hand and Willow was thrown back to the floor.
“Giles,” Xander fumed. He took a step toward Willow.
“No, Xander,” Giles said, his voice hard, cold.
“I’m going to help Willow, and you’re not going to stop me.” Xander clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides.
“I don’t want us to fight,” Buffy said, stepping between the men with her hands raised. “It won’t do us any good. It won’t do Willow any good.”
A moan was torn from the redheaded witch as she was pulled to her feet again. Giles waved his hand, repeated his early command to stay down, but Willow felt the binding spell pulse through her and instantly dissipate.
Goddess no, Willow begged silently as she felt her mouth curl in a leering grin. Before her body could take a step, Giles raised his hand and a pool of liquid-green light surged from his palm.
“Vincere,” he intoned.
Willow was surrounded by the energy. It formed a thick band, locking her arms to her side. As soon as the circle was complete her body began to buck wildly as the dark magics fought repression. The darkness was pushed back, back, until it burrowed in her gut again, waiting for her weakness, for her wrath.
Thank the goddess, she thought, letting her body relax, her head dropping back as she was lifted from the ground.
“Giles, what did you do?” Buffy breathed.
“Contained her, and her powers, within a binding field,” he said softly, watching Willow float. “It puts her in a kind of stasis for the time—” he broke off, glancing at Buffy. “You cut your hair.”
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “You just attacked Willow and put her in stasis like a Star Trek villain and you’re asking me about my hair?”
Giles shook his head and walked across the room toward Willow. When he drew alongside her, he spoke in a near whisper. “I’m very sorry about Tara.”
“How do you know about that?” Buffy asked. “Xander?” She asked accusingly, turning toward the dark-haired man.
“I promise,” he said, holding up his hands, “I didn’t leave any details in that voicemail. I just told him to call us.”
“The Devon coven sensed the rise of a dangerous magical force in Sunnydale,” Giles said, never taking his eyes off of Willow. “A dark force, fueled by grief. I’d so hoped it wasn’t her, and then a seer in the coven told me about Tara.”
“They had a vision of her kidnapping?” Anya asked.
Giles’ eyes widened. He stammered for a moment, and then turned to Buffy. “Kidnapped? The seer saw Tara shot, she saw Tara die.” When Buffy shook her head a broad smile spread across the watcher’s face. “Then she’s alive?”
“Missing,” Buffy said, “But yes, alive.”
The smile on his face faded as he turned back toward Willow. “Then why?” He began.
“How about we explain after make with the letting Willow out of that creepy force field thing?” Xander asked.
“Of course,” Giles murmured. He raised his hand, but before he could speak Willow forced her eyes open, rolling her head to look at the watcher.
“Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice raw and broken, a gravelly whisper. “It’s the only thing…stopping me.” She prayed that he would listen, that he would understand. “Even this…won’t hold me…forever.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.
by leonhart17 » Fri Aug 27, 2010 9:26 pm 
Yeah, that Warren really stinks. :( Thanks for the complement on MPF's...I should try a one-shot sometime...speaking of which, when will you be posting again?!
... I hope the Scooby assault will seriously kick Warren's egoistic butt... I kinda hope that Xander or Giles is able to make the gruesome wish of eliminating Warren...
That Tara is totally such an awesome person. I think I would've told Anya to turn him inside out like that exploding pig-monster in Galaxy Quest. Hope you enjoy the update, Angela!
Indeed, Warren sucks, but toads can be cute...maybe he's one of those poisonous Australian toads that kills dogs who lick them...Woo, babble tangent, Willow would be proud, LOL. Glad you're liking Anya, and ...maybe 
